Their Halcyon
by dreamerscourage
Summary: A series of mostly unconnected drabbles and one shots.
1. Of First Meetings

_written for jily week_

* * *

James Potter was three years and two months old exactly when he was first taken for a stroll through muggle London.

Lily Evans was three years and five months old when she went on her first trip to London.

To any given three year old, the streets of a large city are terrifying. To four year old Petunia Evans this was especially true. She clung to her mother in a fashion that most young children would when they were frightened, nervous. She watched her little sister with wide blue eyes, certain that she was going to hurt herself but Petunia was much to scared to voice such an opinion when large, burly blokes and rough looking teenagers were wandering all around them.

Lily Evans was wearing a toothy grin as she galloped ahead of her mother and sister, excited that her first time in muggle London was going to be at a giant, huge, fantastic toy store.

James Potter was not in a happy mood. He didn't like muggle London because Mummy wouldn't levitate him and make flying sounds and he had to stay attached to her hand. Now James liked his mummy's hand and all, but what fun was a hand when he could be flying? And James Potter loved to fly.

James Potter and Lily Evans would never remember this, their first meeting. How could they? They were just three years old. As Lily galloped ahead, she paid no attention to what was in front of her, and James was too focused on figuring out how to convince his mother to let him fly. They collided, much like speeding cars would. And all at once the wailing began and their respective parents picked them up and made their apologies and laughed over the antics of three year old's.

So you see, it wasn't on a train at the age of eleven and James Potter did not fall in love at first sight. They crashed into each other and passed each other by, quite like ships in the night.


	2. Gone & Done

_written for jily week_

* * *

_November 19, 1977_

His eyes were always joyful to her. A glint of mischief, a promise of trouble. His eyes made her cheeks heat up. His eyes made her swoon. His eyes turned the corners of her lips up at the corner. She loved his eyes more than anything.

His eyes were blank. His eyes were far away and distant and gone and empty.

His knuckles were white, pale white, an unhealthy sort of white. He sat, straight backed and rigid. His eyes were dry. His knuckles were white.

She slid into the room with a grin on her face, because he was back. He'd left her early, too early. All she could remember was sleepily trying to pull him back into bed But he was back now and he would make her laugh and smile and soon, her lips would be swollen from his because he was back and quidditch, any sort of quidditch, put him in a mood she quite enjoyed.

But the boy that she had expected wasn't there, and in his place a shell she did not recognize, a shell she did not wish to see.

He did not look up to see her, despite that she had quickly become the center of which his world revolved around. He didn't want to smile, he didn't want to laugh. All he could do, all he cared to do was sit. Straight backed, rigid, his clothes soaked through, his eyes blank, his knuckles white, his eyes unmoving from a bit of parchment he clutched onto for dear life.

The grin slid off her face as easily as she had slid into his room as her eyes caught on the small bit of parchment that was scribbled on with black ink that his wet hands had smeared. Something wasn't right. Perhaps he hadn't heard her come in. She cleared her throat. No response.

She moved towards him, slowly and carefully and fearfully because this was not James and she was unsure. Her tiny hand so full of warmth and love and affection touched his shoulder and she moved to sit next to him. Despite how impolite she found it undeniably necessary to lean over, squinting her eyes as she made out the words that were written with a shaky hand and smeared with the rain water that had covered him.

"_I'm sorry, so sorry. I don't know. I can't… I'm sorry…_", she made out the words but just barely. She skimmed over the first paragraph, as it soon became illegible but then, then she found the world that had shattered the boy and made the shell that sat straight backed, rigid, soaking wet, white knuckled: "_dead_".

She swallowed thickly and didn't look at him. Who was dead? Who? Clearly it wasn't his mother, because she looked further down the page and saw her signature, her curly letters that she'd seen once or twice in letters he had left scattered around as he pulled her into his room, giggling and laughing like the teenagers they were. She blinked and read further, searching for a name, searching for a title that she would recognize and understand.

But Lily would never understand. At least, that was how she felt when she found the three letters, the three that had shaken him. "_Dad_." Lily would never understand because her father was younger, virile, strong, tough, rough, alive. She would never understand what it was like to watch a father grow weak.

He did. He understood. It was breaking him, tearing him apart.

Slowly, his hand balled the letter from his mother, and with all his might he swallowed. His father was gone. After a battle of will power and humor and medicine and charms and healing, his father was gone. And James couldn't remember the last thing he had said to his Dad. How could his father be gone, when he wasn't sure of his last words? How could his dad be gone when that man was supposed to meet Lily? How could his father be dead, cold, in the ground?

How could he have been so ungrateful, so stupid, so reckless as to have his last thoughts and feelings for his Dad when he was alive be of malice and frustration and anger? And over something so stupid, so inconsequential?

So they sat their in silence, Lily's hand having moved into his and not caring at all that he was soaked through. His rigid, straight backed posture broke as her arm wrapped around him. Her chin tucked over his sopping wet mop of jet black hair. She would never understand. He would never be able to explain. He had failed, and there was nothing, no way he could right his wrongs. It was done. Alexander Charlus Potter was gone.


	3. Mistress

_written for jily week_

* * *

He's gone again.

He carried her to the door, joked around until he set her bare feet on the hard wood floor of the front hall. James joked about how he should have nicked her knickers when he had the chance a few moments ago in the kitchen after they finished not saying goodbye. If he was going to die he wanted to make sure his last memory of her was a bloody fantastic one. He made her laugh, and kissed her playfully, and then passionately, and then slowly. He took his time and held her and told her how much he loved her. He pulled away and shut the door.

He was gone again.

She should have been used to it by now. She should have been used to the cooking meals for one, setting the table for one, ordering drinks for one, doing laundry for one, sleeping alone. She should have been used to gathering every pillow in their house to make a piss poor pillow-James to sleep next to. She should have been used to waking up in the morning and reaching for him and coming up empty, used to the silence. She should have been used to the worry and used to the heart ache.

But she's not, and she knows she never will be.

He's gone again and she's scared again. Because what if this time he doesn't come back? What if this time he does, and he's hurt, or inured, or dead inside? What if he comes back, and he's under the imperius? What if the body that belongs to the man she loves and trusts so much isn't there? What if she couldn't trust that man to love her, because he'd be too busy attacking her?

She's terrified.

There's nothing she can do.

She's helpless.

And god damn it all, Lily Potter fucking hates being helpless.

But she loves her husband.

Her husband lives for his job.

And so she waits, waits in fear and loneliness, in desperation. She paces the halls, leaves pages of the Daily Prophet trailing behind her. She sleeps with a piss poor make shift pillow James, and cooks for one, washes dishes alone, and survives.

She also knows that soon, quite soon, it will be his turn. And he's going to wake up alone. And eat alone, and order food alone because James is not allowed to touch her pots and pans. Soon, he's going to be waiting for her. And he's going to be scared and alone.

And James hates it when she's gone, hates waking up by himself, hates doing dishes alone, hates taking her perfume to bed just so he can have her scent near by.

They leave each other alone, because they can't stay together. They love each other while they can because that's all they have. This war, the Order, it's more important. And it will be. For as long as she can't go out in public without at least one snide comment about her blood. For as long as he gets into fist fights with the people who call her words he can't even convince his lips to form. Until everyone understands that she's just as bright and witty and her blood doesn't mean a god damn thing, the war and the order will always be the third party in their relationship.

And they'll leave each other alone to sleep with pillows and perfume bottles to be with the third person, the bloody mistress that's the war.


	4. Because

_written for jily week_

* * *

Lily was nineteen.

James was eighteen.

It was an interesting state of affairs that put his birth date nearly three months behind hers but she was enjoying the teasing she got to do. James' blush always started at the tips of his abnormally large ears. Merlin, she loved that gigantic prat. Loved him. And she loved that he got so flustered when she teased him, because he bloody well taught her the meaning of the term tease.

But that didn't change the fact that James was eighteen and Lily was nineteen. At least, that's what she thought as she was in the process of cleaning their flat. Never mind that she was nineteen and he was eighteen and they had a flat and lived together and were as serious as any couple ten years their senior could be.

But that's not what was important, either. That would be too easy to be important. What was important was that as she was cleaning and doing laundry and putting away his socks, she found something. Forget that doing his laundry was something a wife would do for a husband. She found something that rather startled her and stunned her and made her thank Merlin that he wasn't at the flat at that moment in time because there she stood, her mouth agape as she stared.

It was a box. A small black box, a couple inches wide if that. But the shape and size and color of the box aren't important. What's important was what was inside the box. And Lily opened that box and her eyes about popped out of her head when she realized what was in that box.

Being curious was sort of a double edged sword. It gave her an edge, no pun intended, when it came to her work. Being curious led to being more productive, which led to early raises and promotions. Not that she was getting any of those, because it was a war and she was a muggle born. But that's an entirely different story altogether and completely unrelated. Well, almost. The war was an important motive, but more on that later. Being curious was also a curse. At that moment, it was a curse.

Because Lily had found an engagement ring. It was perfect, of course. Stunningly so. The cut of the diamond was dreamy, it glittered but it wasn't cold like she always thought diamonds were. It reflected warmth and love. It wasn't big, because he knew she would have been uncomfortable wearing something flashy. It wasn't small because James loved to dote. It was perfect, because James knew she would love it and she did.

She put the ring back. She finished folding laundry. She started ordering dinner, because Lily couldn't cook, and she didn't trust James to not set off the fire alarm. So she ordered dinner. Pizza. Because she was too stunned and shocked and curious about the ring in his sock drawer. Dinner got there. James got home to dinner on the table, told her he loved her and promptly put three pieces of pizza on his plate.

James was eighteen. James was in love. James knew something was different.

"Lil?"

"What?"

"Alright?"

Lily got up after a moment of looking from her pizza and back at him. She went to his sock drawer and found the box that was black and relatively small and brought it back out to the kitchen.

"What the hell is this?"

He looked at the ring and grinned up at her.

"That's a—"

"Don't be a smart ass. I'm not in the mood for smart ass. If you say it's a ring, I'm going to beat you to a bloody pulp."

"Alright. That's a ring." He smirked. She gave him a look.

Lily took a step forward and hit him upside the head.

"Hey! Watch it! Bloody woman…" He defended himself as best he could, unable to contain the laugh.

Lily was fierce.

"That's not an engagement ring."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm nineteen and you're eighteen."

"So what?"

She stared. He moved to pull her closer by her hip, affectionately running his thumb over a stretch of exposed skin.

"Marry me?"

The question hit her and shocked her and her jaw dropped as his mouth fell open and she watched him and he swallowed nervously. Because he had just asked the love of his life to marry him while she was wearing one of his ratty old tshirts and that pair of sweats that made her arse impossible not to touch. Because he had gotten home from training, still sweaty and gross and his hair was all over the place and he hadn't done a damn thing to tame it.

"No! No! Lil, shut up!" His hand moved to cover her mouth and he took the ring and shoved it in his pocket as he pulled her in and fit his mouth to hers in a heated, passionate kiss in the hopes she'd forget.

And she did because damn it, James was a good kisser. He kissed her like she had never been kissed before and for a moment she had forgotten that the love of her life had asked her to marry him. But then he let her come up for air and her arms wrapped around his neck, "I want a Christmas wedding," she told him before fitting her mouth to his and running her fingers through his hair.

Because it was madness. Because she was nineteen and he was eighteen and they were barely adults. Because he loved her and she loved him.

And definitely not because there was a war on that could claim both their lives.


	5. Elephants

_written for bcdaily_

* * *

She was staring again. It would be sweet, cute even if he didn't find it so damn creepy. Lily wasn't supposed to stare. Yell, shout, hex, jinx, hand out detentions, take away house points, snark, and snap absolutely. But staring? Something was wrong. Something was inexplicably wrong. She wasn't supposed to stare. It made him nervous. He was nervous. James Potter, quidditch captain and headboy was nervous. Something was just _wrong_.

Had James always worn his hair like that? It was so… haphazard and long and shaggy and _goddamn _he kept mussing it up. It was a habit she once found inexplicably irritating. But his hands ran through his hair and when she closed her eyes she could just barely feel it between her fingers. And Merlin, had that boy always had shirts that were so white they were almost see through? And he was sweating, a gross habit by any one's standards, but that extra moisture caused it to stick to his barely tanned skin and she just couldn't look away.

James settled sourly against the tree down by the lake and his hands went through his hair as was his nervous habit. Sirius was tossing a quaffle in the air only to have it land back in his hands. Peter had on a smile that clearly said he'd just gotten that Hufflepuff fifth year to rendezvous with him. Remus was shaking his head. But James was sour and everyone could tell but no one was mentioning.

Lily glanced over. Lily kept glancing over even as she was supposed to be listening to a terribly funny— or was it terribly terrible— story from Dorcas Meadowes about her summer. Lily couldn't concentrate. Lily kept watching James and his serious expression and she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd never seen that expression before. She got up and shrugged off the stifling robes so she was just in her school shirt and skirt— who wore those robes so early in the year anyway?

James was going to fucking lose it. Those slender, milky legs that he wanted to worship came into view and he licked his lips as Sirius tried to interest him in quidditch strategy and plays. He nodded his head like he was listening. Lily caught him staring back. But she didn't look away. James eyes followed her legs up to her slim waist and over her curves and met her gaze. But she didn't look away and that was so damn unsettling. She always looked away. Always. James swallowed and his hands went through his hair again.

James got up awkwardly, still struggling with the height he'd acquired in fourth year. He needed to get away from her and her green eyes that were always on him all the time. She wasn't supposed to stare. That was his area of expertise. He disappeared leaving his confused friends behind.

Lily faltered giving Dorcas half an explanation before idly— because she certainly didn't have a plan— following James as nonchalantly as she could. She stayed back as far as she could. But he was going to Gryffindor and so was she and really what was the point in not going together?

She sped up, clearly going mental until she was keeping pace with him. "Potter," she greeted as evenly as a mental woman could screaming at herself to just _shut up. _They'd only talked about head duties and it had been working for her until her screws started coming loose.

What the bloody hell? James was losing it, he had to be. Seeing things, hearing things too. Evans, bloody hell. He glanced over at her and tried to keep his cool but James never really had a cool to keep. His hand went through his hair. "Evans," the greeting came off of a dry tongue.

Lily felt like she was the biggest fool. So what if he'd grown his hair? So what if his shirts were see through giving her that perfect view of his chest and stomach and that back. Merlin, she'd never seen a more perfect back. She let out a breath, "I like your hair," she addressed the elephant in the room. Because that's what it was, a huge, giant, suffocating elephant. She was staring because of his hair. Who gave him the right to grow it out like that?

James turned his head and ran his hand through his hair, "My hair?" confused, curious, but so confused.

"Yes, it doesn't make your head look as big," she found herself, her snark, her sarcasm, her cheeky grin. That sounded like something she'd say. Right? Yes. It did.

James snorted and tugged on the ends, "Alright, Evans." He'd take it.

Evans raised her chin defiantly (though she didn't know what she was defying, exactly), "How do you feel about elephants?" she asked, because she truly had lost all her marbles and was grasping at straws for a better conversation piece than his hair. But now her skin was on fire and the blush was creeping up her neck and all she wanted in the world was for the ground to open up and swallow her whole. She wasn't that lucky.

James looked at her like she was the craziest bird in the world, because honestly, who the hell went from hair to elephants? And then he saw that blush and the grin spread, "I like them well enough so long as they stay out from under the bed," he answered, "Don't like waking up with my nose on the ceiling, you see."

And it was then, Lily decided, that staring was a better use of her time than talking. Talking was dangerous.


	6. There Once Was A Wedding

_written for snapslikethis based on her jily headcanon_

* * *

It was the most important day of his life. Even if Sirius would take the mickey out of him for it if he admitted it out loud. It was the goddamned most important day of his life and he didn't care if that made him sound like a girl. Because that day he was marrying Lily Evans and when they left the backyard of his family's house she'd be Lily Potter and _that _was so important he could hardly sit still.

It was the happiest day of her life. The most important was the day she realized she was in love with the idiot that would be waiting for her down the aisle. Because she was in love with him, and now she'd get to declare it for all the world to hear that he was hers and she was his and so what if that was possessive and possibly unhealthy? She got to tell him she was so bloody in love with him that she was making a fool of herself by having a whole wedding. Because who had a wedding at eighteen?

But she couldn't wait to marry him and he couldn't wait to marry her so they had to make a show of it because they couldn't elope because they were in love and the wanted to shout it from the bloody roof tops. It wasn't inconceivable.

She walked down the aisle a bit too fast and she didn't hear the snickers and snorts at her pace. Her father didn't bother trying to hold her back. Lily was on a mission and when Lily was on a mission it was best to just give in.

For James it seemed to take forever, like she was teasing him. He wouldn't put it past her, either. Because Lily Evans used to be such a nice girl, such a pleasant girl. And then she turned into a bloody tease and her favorite ___modus operandi _was pace. He took half a step towards her, urging her towards him but Sirius put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from hurrying down the aisle towards her.

They got there. They finally, finally got there and Lily's hand sent little bolts of electricity up his arm, and he was so glad they were having a summer wedding because if she was wearing gloves he'd lose it. His skin on hers was the only thing holding him to the earth, her skin and her eyes and the way that the moment she got so close to him she leaned in and kissed him.

The crowd chortled and chuckled and joked and whistled and the minister cleared his throat, "That's not for another half hour, cool it," her father scolded them. Lily turned a red color but James was grinning and he couldn't help the way his hand moved to her waist because finally he was marrying her and it was the most important day of his life so why should he have to restrain himself in the name of propriety?

Lily cleared her throat, "Skip the sermon, will you?" she pleaded with the minister who opened his mouth to protest but how could anyone deny a bride on her wedding day? So they skipped right to the vows and Lily opened her mouth to start but she couldn't start because the moment she started trying to speak his mouth covered hers in another stolen kiss. The congregation laughed again, and they knew that this wedding was going to take forever and a day to get through because Lily and James wouldn't stop once they started. Their friends and family knew them too well. So even though James' mother was trying to cry because her baby was all grown up she couldn't because he kept kissing his soon to be wife and his soon to be wife kept kissing him, interrupting each other as they promised to spend the rest of their lives together, loving one another, protecting each other.

At last, at long last, and thirty minutes of mostly kissing and tear stained words the two idiots were married. And then the minister just rolled his eyes as the two love struck idiots looked to him, waiting for the instructions they had been ignoring for their whole wedding, "So now you need permission?" Lily turned red and this time James kissed her right, kissed her long, pulled her into his arms and swept her up in a kiss for the ages.


	7. Coffee at Christmas

_written for merryspying, happy christmas!_

* * *

She was staring at him. Really though, who could blame the poor girl? James Potter was the sort of bloke that was easy to stare at recently. Especially recently. It was quite a frustrating predicament she had found herself in. Because honestly, Lily Evans should not have been staring at the likes of James Potter. At least, she didn't think so. But there were a lot of things that Lily was doing recently that she really didn't think she ought to have been doing. Like skipping Christmas with her family.

The Evans' were tight as, if you didn't look at the sisters in the family. Lily adored her father, Petunia adored her mother, and Mr. and Mrs. Evans adored each other and they loved their daughters. The disconnect was between Petunia and Lily. But that wasn't exactly her fault either. Petunia was a bit of a pain in the arse, and as much as she loved her sister there were some things that were better left alone. Petunia was getting married and as much as she wished she could be part of the celebrations, Tuney didn't want her anywhere near the planning stages. So rather than subject herself to being ignored and/or trampled over by her elder sister, Lily was making lemonade out of lemons by sticking around school for the holiday. It really wasn't all that bad. She got the girl's dormitory all to herself. And the house elves seemed to go out of their way to make Christmas especially pleasant. Most of the blood purity fanatics were home for the holidays. Hogsmeade was open to the students third year and above all holiday. And everywhere she went smelled like pine. These were all things that generally went over with the red head quite well.

However there were also down sides. Huge downsides. Like how she couldn't for the life of her avoid the head boy. He showed up absolutely everywhere that she went and it was beginning to drive her mad. Lily wouldn't dare admit that it was driving her mad because she was sort of mad about him. Not when James was always angry and frustrated about something. But that particular morning he sat down four seats away from her on the opposite side of the table and Lily had a hell of a time not turning her head to look it him every few seconds. She tapped her foot nervously, praying that whatever deity was watching that James didn't notice her. If Lily were being her usual self, versus the self she became whenever that boy entered the room, she would be quite aware that James wasn't paying her any mind at all. But it didn't feel that way to her. Potter had been noticing everything about her since they were fourteen and she had just gotten to the point a few months ago where she wasn't acutely aware of how his eyes could burn holes in her skin.

Lily let out a slow breath and glanced to him once more before deciding that she was quite done with how awkward he made her feel so she moved to sit across from him.

"Morning," she greeted.

He looked up and nodded his head but didn't say a word.

She noticed that he was wearing the same shirt he wore to bed the night before. It was wrinkled. Lily managed a smile, "Long night?" she asked.

James narrowed his eyes at her and at a piece of bacon. "What do you want, Evans?" he asked her in a sort of monotone that Lily certainly didn't like in the least.

Lily gaped at him momentarily, "Want?" she managed after she pulled herself together.

The smarmy bastard smirked at her as she gaped. He loved getting the better of her. He always had. "Yes. Want. It's a verb. To desire. What do you want?" he continued.

Lily rolled her eyes, "What makes you think I want anything, hm?" she hummed as she rested her elbow on the table. James hated it when people put their elbows on the table. For a boy who broke all the rules once upon a time he sure had a strong sense of decorum. Lily knowingly used it when she felt threatened.

It was easy to see when James was slightly put off. Wrinkles appeared on his brow. "You're sitting here," he pointed out, "You only sit here when you want something."

Lily wrinkled her nose at him and shook her head, "I do not. You're alone and I was alone so I decided to sit with you. That's what mates do, don't they?" she asked him simply, "Aren't we mates?"

James snorted but didn't say anything.

Lily remained silent for a bit as she pushed her food around her plate. "You know a thank you wouldn't go amiss, Potter," she decided eventually.

James looked up as a chuckle escaped him before he could stifle it. "You want me to thank you for sitting across from me?"

Lily shrugged her shoulders, "You surround yourself by your mates all the time and they all went home save Sirius, and it's not noon yet," she answered with a cheeky grin, "And I have to put up with you, don't I?"

He smirked again and shook his head, "I'm not thanking you for assuming I need company, Evans," he returned simply.

"Well then you're certainly missing out. I was going to ask if you'd like to go to the kitchens with me to get coffee."

James paused and looked up to her, "I hate coffee." That was a lie. He rather liked coffee. He just didn't fancy being with the girl that made his heart hurt in all the wrong ways.

She frowned, "Liar," Lily accused as she leaned forward.

James raised an eyebrow.

"You love coffee. Well I suppose the correct way of putting it is that you like a bit of coffee in your creamer, but you've had it every morning," she said simply. And then, as he eyed her in surprise, Lily turned a brilliant shade of red.

"You know how I take my coffee?"

"Shut up."


	8. Opposites

He was old money, though he didn't act it. His father was a stuffy, old man who cared so much for the war that he didn't fight in it but gave his words and his galleons to the cause. He had fought his war and he was too old for this one. His mother, sweet though she was, trembled at the sight of blood and war. She was a delicate thing that he swore to protect. But he, James Potter, he was different. He wasn't like them, not old and not delicate. He wore his clothing like he wasn't wearing anything at all, and the devilish gleam in his eye said perfectly well that he was more useful without the tie or the shirt or the trousers.

She was nothing in comparison, but everything to him. She grew up with household chores that had to be completed or dinner was the price to be paid. Her mother was a school teacher, her father a coal miner. She grew up mending her socks, letting down the hems in her skirts, and wearing her sister's old but immaculate too pink blouses that clashed so horribly with her blood red hair. She secretly believed Petunia's favorite color was pink just to spite her, though she never voiced such an unladylike thought. The first time she was to receive something her sister didn't wear were her robes, her robes that were cheap in comparison to those of her classmates, but they were hers. Hers, oh what a word. It went so well with the likes of mine.

They had nothing at all in common except for their mutual, inexplicable attraction for one another. True, she would not, could not admit it. He was a fiend, a scoundrel, and she denounced any sort of bubbly, warm, burning desire for him at any chance she got. But she watched him. She watched him like a dying alcoholic counted every last sip of their favorite brandy. She saw the way he tapped his fingers against his thigh when he was angry. And he often was when she so foolishly rejected him without looking the least bit broken. She saw the way he grit his teeth when the girls that thought his locks were dreamy threw themselves at his feet, like a dog seeking attention. She picked up on the way his head fell back when he laughed and how his smile reached his eyes and how his hand twitched every time they were near enough to touch, as if he had to reign in the impulse to touch her hip, to caress her cheek.

And her heart broke for it. Her heart shattered for it, into a thousand pieces that still pulsed within her chest, like shards of glass looking for any sort of escape out of her chest. Yes, her heart broke for him, day after day and moment after moment because of her own doing.


	9. Easy

His hand rumples up the back of his hair. The same hand makes a path up and then back down the length of his upper arm in the hopes that the friction will provide him with some warmth. Sirius punches him in the arm as he comments on how much of a pansy James is for succumbing to the cold. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and his eyes crinkle at the corners as he's just found a snitch. The same snitch that the seeker caught in the first game she went to.

He thinks she doesn't notice when his lips turn up at the corners in a smile that he only wore for her. He thinks she doesn't notices when he glances up, looking for her in a crowd of students on their way to Hogsmeade. He thinks she doesn't notice that her initials are scribbled into the corners of all his notes.

But he's wrong. James Charlus Potter is so bloody wrong that it's nearly unfathomable. James Potter is oblivious, a right wanker for not noticing that she's bloody miserable. One would think that after six years of attempts and failures at getting her attention that he'd see her noticing every last detail that make him up.

And not only was she noticing. No. That would be too fucking easy, wouldn't it? She's falling in love with the git's mussed hair and his cramped hand writing and the way his shirt is always wrinkled around the collar. She admires and swoons over his smile and how the expression takes over his whole, stupid face. But James Potter doesn't notice a damn thing. Why? Because it would be too fucking easy.

It would be too easy for them to fall in love at the same time. So instead, and by fate's mad design, they take turns. He looks for her and sees her hair in a lazy braid as her eyes are turned to the ground. And she finds him just as that bloody Ravenclaw bint distracts him, gets his attention. And Lily wonders for a moment if perhaps her time has passed and he's falling in love with someone else while that someone else falls in love with him. Because wouldn't that just make perfect sense? Wouldn't that add just a bit more tragedy to her story? He's loved her all his life and when she finally starts to notice him he's over her and moving on. It would just make sense that nothing ever works out the easy way, right? Her stomach twists in knots and her blood runs ice cold through her veins at the mere idea that he could love that blonde Ravenclaw with blue eyes that were too big and a laugh that sounded like bells.

But damn it all, she's too proud and he's too sick of rejection to ask, to find out for certain. It would be too easy to just say the words but the questions hit too hard and so they're left taking turns and memorizing details that wouldn't matter to anyone else. But to Lily, watching him turn his plate one and a half turns before piling it with food and tapping his foot impatiently in class is a bit too much like home. So they keep going on rounds and patrols to pretend their friendship is merely professional. And that's the tragedy of it. They spend hours and hours together and alone. He has every chance to see that finally she loves him. And she's got every opportunity to hit him over the head with her newly found but all to familiar feelings.

But that would be too easy, wouldn't it?


	10. Finally

First it was Easter. Lily was so sure it would be Easter. She had put on that yellow sun dress that did everything for her and still made her look like someone you would want to take home to Mum and Dad. She did her hair just the way he liked it. And all day he gave her smiles, the secret kind that made her feel giddy and warm. But Easter came and went and still, nothing. No surprises in the easter eggs, no pauses on their long walk in the field of wild flowers. Nothing but a boyfriend that loved her. She was a little disappointed, but nothing she couldn't hide. After all she had him. And Merlin, did she love him.

Then she was quite certain it would be just two days after he returned from that long two week mission. They hadn't been able to talk to each other that entire time, or exchange letters. It was silence, absolute unbearable silence. And when he came back to her he was covered in blood. Some of it was his, some was not. He was quiet, withdrawn, thoughtful. And then he disappeared to his parents' house for a few hours and came back different. He wasn't withdrawn, or silent. He wasn't what he was, he'd forever be different. But he was more her James than he had been when he first came home. He sat on the couch with her, ate the meal she cooked, told her he loved her. He told her he couldn't live without her. And that was the end of that.

Then she thought, Christmas. It was going to be Christmas. He knew she loved Christmas. He decorated the tree with her, he hung the lights. And James being who he was, put mistletoe everywhere and insisted they test it, to make sure it worked. It did. James even helped her make cookies. Her little cousins inhabited their house for a few days, and Lily noticed the flicker of excitement and joy when he was with children. And he started staring at her. Not in a creepy way. But in a way that made her feel safe. Comfortable. He was watching her to make sure she was happy. But Christmas came and went, and no small boxes were unwrapped.

Lily was starting to get impatient. She loved him. And he'd wasted two good holidays and she was starting to worry. What was the old saying? Never buy the cow if you can get the milk for free? She started making noises about going on extended trips, but James did nothing. James was supportive of these extended trips.

New Year's eve was spent in absolute drunkeness. James pressed champagne glass after champagne glass into her hand, and none of them held anything shiny at the bottom. New Year's day was quiet. She spent all day in bed with him, ringing in the New Year with the same old labels.

January 30th. Her birthday. Lily was starting to think he'd never get around to it. She actually had bought a band for him. An actual, silver band. She had taken to carrying it around in her pocket. More than once on her birthday she'd thought to ask. But Lily couldn't bring herself to do it. It seemed pathetic to her. How could she ask him on her birthday? He would practically be guilted into saying yes. And if he said no? Merlin, it would kill her. Later, much later, she decided that was a good thing.

But one day it happened. On the rather boring twentieth day of February James took Lily back to Hogwarts, just to visit. And he suggested, quite excitedly, that they go check out their old haunts. And she agreed with a small smile. The first stop along the tour was, of course, the prefect's bath. James winked at the mermaid, and Lily smacked the back of his head before laughing at his antics. He told her he used to flirt with the mermaid, for practice. Next the Gryffindor common room where they reminisced about everything Hogwarts related. And then down to the Quidditch pitch, where Lily smiled sheepishly when he brought up their first kiss, and it was there he kissed her, in the same spot they shared their first kiss just two years ago. And it was there that finally, finally, James sank to one knee. Finally. He told her that he couldn't imagine the rest of his life without her, and promptly begged for her hand in marriage.

And Lily said yes. Finally.


	11. Uncontrollable

It was then that you realized you loved him. Not before, not when his hazel eyes burned your skin, blistering the porcelain, freckled exterior that was so fragile. It wasn't when his arm brushed against yours and sent fireworks exploding through you despite the fact that it was midday. It was when he looked at you, broken, pathetic, that you realized that you loved him.

You loved the way he touched you, lightly trailing his fingers across your skin and leaving trails of heat and fire, the way his laugh could get you drunk, the way his smile and his scent made you stiffen so you wouldn't lose control. Because that's what it was about, before. Control. He wanted it, and you had it, and you were loathe to share it, to let it go. But you realized it. You loved him, and you could share, you could let him take it and know that the only way he'd hurt you were through the love earned bruises left on your hips, your neck, and just below your collarbone.

But you knew you could hurt him, and not in just the sense of what your lips could do to his skin. You could hurt him not because of what you could do, because you would never harm a hair on his body. You loved him, you loved him so completely that it hurt you to even just think about it so it was better just to feel. But you couldn't stop thinking. You thought about the violence of the outside world, of what word that sallow pale skinned, dark haired boy once used to describe you. You thought about how you could hurt him, how you could hurt everyone he cared about just by having your blood pulse through your veins, and have your last name be what it was. You knew you could hurt him, could cause his death and there wasn't a damn thing you could do to control it.

So you left him. You left him, hoping to save him. But you were the water to a man left starving and thirsty in the desert. You were the whiskey to an alcoholic stuck in the prohibition. You were the salve to the burns you left on his mangled heart. You didn't save him. You made him a shell, an exterior. You became so much a part of him that leaving him killed him, tortured him more than any of those people that would torture him for loving you ever could. You put him in a living hell, he raced right past purgatory so that the flames could lick his skin violently. You ruined a good man. You left him, and you hurt him, and you knew it.

So you came crawling back, your tail between your legs, your eyes wide and shining with a burning liquid most have come to call tears. You came to him on your knees, seeing him with another, someone who wanted to heal him the way you did. He was trying and failing to get over you. You tore her away and she let him go. She wasn't right for him. No one would ever be right for him but you. You attached yourself and fell in love all over again, letting him decide, letting him pick you. And he did, he always would.

James would always pick Lily. He didn't care that the blood that ran threw your veins came from a teacher and coal miner. He didn't care that the only bit of magic in your family for generations was yours. And James Potter didn't care in the least that loving you was a death sentence. He would die for you, he would jump between you and a loaded gun and a pointed wand without a second thought. One day he did.


	12. Untitled 1

"Tell me about Mum," eight year old Harry requested with a yawn as James tucked him in. A half smile showed on the older man's face, the light dimming in his eyes. The little boy's mother had been the one great love of his life, and her passing had been particularly painful for him. Especially since her son was so like her. Not in looks, of course. But his character was so much like Lily's. James swallowed and tucked the covers around the small child's body, and tickled the little boy so he laughed and the same sound echoed in James. And then the woeful look returned, "Please?" the little voice sounded as he took the older man's hand.

James let out a deep breath and steadied himself for what was next. "Your Mum- your Mum loved you," James started, his voice low in the hopes that he could hide the wavering in his voice. Seven years gone and just thinking of her passing set him close to tears. But he had to be strong, for the little boy he loved so much. He swallowed and closed his eyes, picturing her in her youth, picturing her when she loved him, picturing her with Harry in her arms. "Your Mum had beautiful red hair, but hated it when we called it that. She wanted it to be called auburn. Despised the nickname Red," this all came out of him in a rush.

Jame licked his lips and regained his composure by taking a ragged breath. He squeezed his eye lids shut and continued, "She was a brilliant witch. Absolutely brilliant, Harry. Strong and vibrant and intelligent and charming." He looked down at the little boy and cleared his throat again, "You're so much like your mother, Harry. She was feisty, too. She gave our potions professor a hard time because he was so surprised a muggle born could be so talented. And she was talented. She was a favorite among her professors, her employers. Everyone loved your mother. She had a way of seeing people for what was good about them. You take after her, buddy." He opened his eyes and looked down at the little boy he loved so much.

Harry smiled and nodded his head. He loved hearing about how much he was like his Mumma. He couldn't remember her, but he had seen pictures. And he knew he didn't look like her. "But I look like my Dad," he said with a soft smile, waiting for confirmation.

James nodded his head, "Yeah," he answered, his tone gruffer than he meant, "But your Mum loved you. That was her one weakness, her ability to love. But it was her greatest strength, too, buddy." James swallowed again and smoothed the boy's hair down, "Her favorite subject was charms. She was a Gryffindor, like me. And your Dad- your Dad was a good man," his tone went down another octave and James took a deep breath. He hated telling this part, hated what it did to him even now. But he did, and he did it well.

"Charles Baddock was a good man, and he loved you and he loved your mother. You were the light of his world, Harry," James informed the eight year old, "You and your mother both. The day he married her was the happiest of his life." And the second worst for James. He looked away from the boy he loved as his own son, away from the light blonde hair and chubby cheeks and pointed chin so like Charles' Baddocks, away from the green, almond shaped eyes so like Lily's. James could feel Harry slip his other hand on top of James' larger one.

"Did you love my Mum?" Harry asked in a soft voice, and the question knocked James square in the chest. The little boy could sense the tension in the older man and waited patiently for an answer.

James struggled to breathe for a moment and tightened his hand on Harry's, "Yes," he answered, his voice breaking just enough for them to both hear. He swallowed in an attempt to keep it together and looked down to see the little boy paying rapt attention to him, "But I love you most, Harry."


	13. Untitled 2

Lily couldn't cry. She had done so much of it, wailing in desperation as she sat next to her husband's corpse, holding Harry in her arms. He had long since grown cold against her chest and James' fingers had grown stiff around hers. Her voice was lost, and on some level of consciousness she knew she would never, ever be the same. Lily rocked back and forth, willing the night to start again and crying anew when she opened her eyes and her husband's glasses were still crooked and the lenses cracked. His head had hit the edge of a stair, and blood flowed freely staining her carpets and matting the hair she loved to run her fingers through. And her little baby boy that she clutched to her didn't make a sound of disgruntlement, but his cries were still etched on his face. She closed her eyes again, praying for a miracle and praying that what had happened was just a fluke. But it wasn't. The Dark Lord didn't make mistakes.

She shuddered and collapsed so her head was on James' chest, but the usual rise and fall was absent and it sent her into a new wave of sobs and her body convulsed on top of his. She held her dead son closer, all comfort that the two offered her in spades now gone entirely, and forever.

A door creaked open, and deliberate foot steps could be heard if Lily were listening. But she wasn't, and she wouldn't because all that mattered to her in the world had ceased breathing. Her baby boy that she loved so much, her husband that she couldn't imagine her life without were taken from her, plucked out of her life. And she was spared, almost cruelly so. She couldn't imagine what sort of monster thought up this torture, but there she sat alone and surrounded by the corpses that had been her whole world without an idea on how she could possibly move on.

The foot steps stopped as they reached the landing and at first the wizard that they belonged to wasn't sure if the red head was alive or dead. A mere moment later he knew that her hair that was always so beautiful to him simply covered up her face in tangles because she didn't care to move it. He struggled not to sneer as he stepped closer.

"There, there, Lily," he tried to soothe but he had never been any good at this. He struggled at the most basic of human interactions, tears were quite beyond him. He crouched down and settled a hand on her back before slowly pulling her away from the family that his master had killed the night before. Though James Potter and Harry Potter stopped breathing the world continued to go round and the sun was beginning to rise to greet the first day of November.

Lily was quite weak, all the crying and wailing and screaming and pleading with God to just wake up the two great loves of her life had drained her and now she was a frail and easily broken shell of what she had been so much earlier the night before when a giggle was etched on her son's face and James' was making bubbles to entertain their son. And she watched on with a grin, snapping pictures of Harry in his pumpkin Halloween costume. She was lifted away from her family and felt a familiar set of arms wrap around her. She leaned into them as the voice hushed her, and tried to soothe her. Eventually, some strength returned to her and she pulled away to look at who had come.

Severus Snape had aged, though his features were familiar to her. His dark hair that fell to his shoulders, his nose still turned downward at the tip, his skin was still an unhealthy pale and sallow. She took several deep breaths and calmed herself as best she could, though she looked no where near it. Severus reached out and brushed her hair back behind hear ears and out of her face, "You're safe," his thin lips turned into a smile as the pad of his thumb caressed her cheek. He could still feel the heat of the tears that had flowed freely, "It's all going to be okay, Lily, you'll see. I'll take care of you."

Lily faltered and leaned into him at first, desperate for the comfort, for human contact that wasn't so cold. But then he continued and a fire lit in her eyes and she pulled back, "It's never going to be okay," she spat as she moved closer to her husband and picked up Harry's body and cradled it close to her again, as if her warmth would some how wake him.

Severus frowned and reached out to touch her again, "Don't be ridiculous," he sneered at her husband's corpse. "I asked the Dark Lord to save you, Lily," he said in a more gentle tone as he rubbed the length of her upper arm, "I saved you," he continued and waited for her thanks that would never come.

Lily turned to look at him and before the thought entered her mind her hand came flying across his cheek and the sound that came from the palm colliding with his face reverberated throughout her house left her far from satisfied. "You did this?" she asked, aghast and unable to control the anger that flowed through every bit of her. She didn't need to grab her wand, didn't care to. Any pain that she could inflict felt so much better coming from her fists, her feet, her knee as she pulled it upwards towards his groin. She didn't need her wand. "You," a pause as she tried to breathe, "fucking," again, "bastard," Lily screamed, "You did this! You had my baby killed!"

Severus was taken aback, but not so taken aback that he couldn't capture her wrists and spin her around so her knees would quit attacking him. He pulled her in close so she couldn't keep attacking him and wrapped an arm around her tightly to keep her in place, "Lily, I had to," he whispered into her ear, "Don't you see? This is the only way. The Dark Lord is going to win, there's no alternative. He's powerful, and strong. If you had given me only the chance and the time I could have saved you from Potter," he spat the last name angrily. She struggled against him but Snape's grip remained controlling and possessive, "I saved you, Lily, they didn't have a chance. The Dark Lord was going to kill them anyway, but I saved you."

A new strength poured through her and she broke his hold. She pulled away and turned towards him. Her fist pulled back and landed against his jaw. A satisfying crunch could be heard as her knuckles split, "I'd rather be dead!" she screamed at him, as her other fist landed hard next to his eye. Severus struggled to find his wand, but Lily was faster. She pulled it from his hands but rather than break it she turned it on him, "Fuck you," she whispered, "You'll never know love. You'll never know family. You'll die a sick and twisted and miserable man and I hope you go straight to hell," she said coldly, all the venom and anger she felt centering her. And then she flicked her wand and an unforgivable came off of her tongue, a wave of green light that she had seen twice before shot into his chest and he fell to the floor. A second set of marionette's strings had been cut.

When she saw what she had done, Lily's entire body shook. She returned to her family and tears streamed down her face as she pressed gentle kisses to both her husband's forehead and her son's. She knelt beside them, and Lily knew any life she could have without her husband and son wasn't worth living. What sort of person could she be if she couldn't be Harry's mother or James' wife? It was her love for them that defined her, and now without them she was as lost as a ship at the bottom of the sea. The floor boards creaked at the front door as Lily turned the wand on herself. Just as her husband's body had fallen to the floor hours earlier, hers did just the same. The light left her eyes at the moment Harry's god father appeared down the hall, and once more an anguished cry sounded throughout Godric's Hollow.


End file.
